


Moon gates

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While at the Gates of the Moon, Sansa has twisted thoughts about the Hound.</p><p>Beta-ed by Wildsky_Sheri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Here’salittle warning to tell you all that I have made no research regarding the Gates oftheMoon’s appearance and so, if the description I make of it don’t fit the canons, just don’t pay no mind to it. It’s really not that important in the story._

 

**Sansa**

 

 

It was already dark when they arrived home from shopping at a nearby village. Randa had desired to order a few new dresses for the approaching winter and Alayne had decided to accompany her. The afternoon had been beautiful and Alayne cruelly needed some fresh air; she felt trapped at the Gates of the Moon and had been almost happy to finally get out of its thick walls for a few hours. Her father had reluctantly approved of the outing but on the condition that a guard would follow the two young women closely. The protectiveness of her father was often annoying to Alayne; he never wanted her out of his sight for too long and preferred for his daughter to be inside the castle at all times. As she had always been docile, she didn’t complain about the restrictions but she nevertheless suffered from her painfully monotonous entrapment.

 

Being a prisoner, a caged bird… that was nothing new to the young maiden, history was repeating itself once again. Although the memories of her previous confinement didn’t truly belong to Alayne, they were linked to a previous life that she once had. Some parts of that past existence just didn’t seem to want to be forgotten no matter how much she had tried her best to put it all behind her.   

 

“Sansa…” Alayne whispered to herself with tears in her eyes. How strange it was to pronounce that forbidden name; sweet and bitter all at once.

 

Thousands of years ago Sansa, that long lost girl, had been betrothed to a king as gorgeous as the sun, but behind his comely and graceful appearance, the young man had concealed all the ugliness of the world and a heart as rotten as carrion in the summer heat. The sadistic king had cruelly mistreated Sansa, mercilessly killing her father and frequently commanding his Kingsguard to beat the fragile girl bloody. There was never a lack of occasion for the young man to mistreat his betrothed as Sansa had been the sister of Robb of House Stark, the late King in the North who had won every battle that he had fought and had been at war with his sister’s intended.

 

A deep and long sigh emerged from Alayne’s lips. Trapped at the top of a tower as she was, Sansa had still been the sister of a king and one of the highest born maidens of the Seven Kingdoms. Alayne, on the other hand, was the bastard daughter of a lesser lord and disregarded by most people for that reason. _I shouldn’t regret Sansa.  She was but a martyr who suffered more than anything else._

 

Alayne’s existence was much more peaceful than Sansa’s; she wasn’t physically abused and she was extremely thankful for that, but she still couldn’t help but think back on that previous life with a slight hint of nostalgia.

 

How could this be? Sansa had hated the capital, the king, the queen and their court full of hypocrites. She had been relieved to leave that horrible nightmare behind her when she had fled with Petyr Baelish. That man, to whom she was immensely grateful but still strangely uncomfortable with, was now both her saviour and her captor … as well as her father and her suitor. He knew who she was and desired her for all the wrong reasons.

 

Despite the fact that she was well treated at the Gates of the Moon as Petyr Baelish’s bastard daughter, Sansa had not gained any freedom with this new identity. She had to follow a strict routine which never changed from one day to another and as she thought back on the past year of her life, she couldn’t distinguish a moon’s turn from the previous one, each of them sharing the same constant dullness.

 

There was no place for regret about her escape from King’s Landing in Alayne’s mind but the young bastard still had bittersweet feelings once in a while at the idea that she had been something akin to a heroine of one of those stories that she had enjoyed so much through her childhood. Although Sansa’s ordeal had been heavy upon her frail shoulders, her life had been worthy of a song - a sad song, but a song nonetheless. The same could never been said of Alayne.

 

The young woman shut her eyes in despair as she closed the door of her room behind her. _How can I regret something as terrible as Sansa’s life? Will I ever be happy where I am, or will I always look back at my past days in regret or anticipate the future to come in hope? I should live in the present and forget everything about Sansa once and for all. This way I might be able to move forward and lose some of my melancholy._

 

Exhaustion from her long day had taken over and Alayne decided to go to sleep at once since her strict routine required her to wake up every day at dawn. While she slipped into her nightgown, she quivered as images of bright green flames flashed in her mind as it so often did at night. Succeeding the fires in her unwelcomed visions, the gloomy shape of a man suddenly manifested in the darkness, sending shudders down her spine. Some parts of Alayne’s memory were engraved so deeply in her soul that they just couldn’t be exorcized from her thoughts and stalked her as a jealous and possessive ex-lover would.

 

The air was thick in her chamber and since it was a warm night for the season, Alayne slowly approached the door that led to her small balcony and opened it. She stepped outside for a moment, gazing sadly at the horizon as if she was seeking some unknown and improbable answer to her profound discontentment. After a minute or two, Alayne came back inside of her room and headed for the featherbed. She laid under the blankets and easily fell back into her brooding introspection.

 

The spectre of the dark man was never far from her thoughts, always looming over her wherever she went. As she closed her eyes, Alayne could almost behold his shadowy figure secretly slipping into Sansa’s room in the dark of night before hiding in the freshly flowered girl’s bed like a wild dog waiting for his prey’s return.

 

The intruder had been well known to Sansa: he was a fearsome warrior, a giant with a half-burned face and long black hair that made him resemble the Stranger himself. She had often forgotten that this man was as human as she though he was different from anyone else that had ever surrounded her. Rage oozed from his every pore and his stormy grey eyes always appeared to be angry at the world, but the dark man had nonetheless been one of the few people at court who had seemed to notice Sansa’s existence and treated her as a human being. Even so, she had never gathered enough courage to look at him for longer than a minute or so. He scared her too much even if she had recognised his help at the time.

 

On the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, the burned man had stolen into Sansa’s chamber like a burglar. He had wished to take her away from the hell that she was in, to keep her safe, he had told her. Sansa had given no answer to the intruder’s proposition and avoided his intense gaze, frightened as she had been. Although she had not meant any offence by it, Alayne was well aware that Sansa’s lack of reaction had triggered everything that had followed afterward.

 

 _A song, he had wanted a song,_ she remembered, _but which kind of song was he asking for?_ Sansa had been a naïve girl but Alayne knew better; her friend Randa had taught her a lot about life all through the past year. The bastard girl had now no doubt in her mind that the dark man, the fierce warrior that people called the Hound, had had every intention of raping Sansa on that crucial night.

 

How could Sansa have been so blind? The Hound had desired her in that fashion for longer than she knew, Alayne had recently realised. His recurring demands for a song had sometimes appeared almost threatening as the man had seemed confident of getting his way. Often, she had felt as if he was following her around the Red Keep like a giant shadow at her back. The anger in his dark grey eyes had terrified Sansa, but as Alayne replayed these distant interactions in her head, she could now discern all the lust that had gleamed in them as well.

 

The Hound had used his murderous force to save Sansa during the bread riots, cutting relentlessly though the press to get to her. _How can a man save a maiden’s life but later break into her room to attack her? How can he offer her his help to escape with promises of keeping her safe before putting a dagger against her throat and being willing to rape her?_

He hadn’t done it though. Sansa had sung the mother’s hymn to the Hound and the prayer had stopped him for some mysterious reason. As abruptly as he had appeared, the Hound had left his victim unhurt and untouched. Sansa had never seen him again and only heard distant rumours of his whereabouts.

 

 _What if I had kept silent as I thought I would for a moment? The Hound would surely have taken me by force_. With such an imposing and strong assailant Sansa would have had no chance; she had felt so powerless with that rabid beast looming over her tiny frame. Without the song, he would have certainly ripped her dress open before impatiently taking her maidenhead in an instinctive, almost animal fashion.

 

Sweat was beginning to pearl over Alayne’s pale skin as troubling images flashed in her head while the queer but intriguing warmth that so often teased her core these days was quickly forming in her loins. She was getting used to the strange sensation as she often felt it of late and was now well aware of the only cure that would release her from the building ache that was creeping over her whole body.

 

With eyes shut, Alayne lowered her hands on her body, the left one starting to caress her full breasts while the other went down to her thigh and gripped the soft cloth of her nightgown, pulling it over her belly. Her delicate hand slid under her smallclothes and rested on her mound for a moment, her long fingers slowly playing with the hair she found there.

 

The young girl took a deep breath and closed her eyelids for an instant. When she reopened them, Alayne was no longer in the room. Under the silk sheets, Sansa was alone and at last free of her bastard persona, if only for a short moment. As Sansa, she could fully immerse herself in her secret memories and let her mind wander into the dark without any restraint.

 

The room was getting warmer, forcing Sansa to push her blankets aside. She shut her eyes again, trying to picture how the Hound’s muscled body would have crushed her delicate one under its heavy weight. On their last encounter, he had reeked of blood, wine, sweat, vomit and smoke. His scent had been so overwhelming that she had been rightfully repelled by it, but now as she fondled herself, she was convinced that if she could go back in time, this unusual odour wouldn’t bother her while the Hound vigorously stroked her whole body and took her without a trace of mercy.

 

Her careful fingers caressed her wet entrance for an instant before slowly but firmly starting to rub over the small nub of flesh that was hidden between the two silken lips. Being a maiden, Sansa wasn’t certain of how the Hound’s manhood would have felt as he thrust his full length inside of her for the first time, but she had no doubt that it would have hurt terribly and that she would have screamed in pain. Maybe the imposing man would have muffled her with one of his huge calloused hands or told her to keep quiet while pressing his dagger against her throat, she mused while feeling a rush of wetness soak her fingers and her underclothes.

 

“Ooh…” A soft moan came out of her parted lips as the rhythm of her fingers became faster. _Is that what the Hound meant by singing?_ Sansa wondered while hearing her own whimpers.  

 

“I’ll have a song from you, whether you will it or not,” he had once rasped at her. Sansa could still hear his hoarse voice, harsh as steel scraping on rock echoing in her ears as if he were with her on the featherbed, menacingly whispering those words in her hair.

 

A year ago, Sansa would have never believed that she would one day desire such a man but now, as she was pleasuring herself, she craved his rough touch and the feel of his brawny body against hers. As he would have taken her, Sansa was certain that after a few minutes of soreness and discomfort, the Hound’s swollen manhood would have woken something delectable in her, something that she knew was hidden inside of her. She was feeling it getting closer and as she pictured how her dark and gloomy assailant would have reached his climax and spilled his seed inside of her, she felt her own release violently coming on her. She cried out in ecstasy, forgetting for an instant that she wasn’t alone in the castle and that a demure and well-raised maiden of four and ten should never act so wantonly.

 

After a few seconds of regaining her senses, Sansa reopened her eyes and suddenly felt a rush of shame take over her whole being. A deep blush coloured her entire body at the realisation of what she had just done. _Why?! Why does the Hound makes me feel this way? He’s a hideous brute who almost raped me! I should be disgusted by him, not the opposite._ She felt lost and mortified at the knowledge that she had turned into such a twisted person. Girls her age were supposed to dream of gentle kisses with gorgeous knights as she used to, not be taken at dagger point by the Hound. Tears rolled down her burning cheeks as she wondered how such a drastic change in her tastes had ever occurred. She was abashed and shocked but well aware that her new preferences were most likely there to stay since it was far from the first time that she had had similar thoughts and actions. Even worse, she always felt a pinch in her heart when she thought of the strong possibility that she would never meet this man again _. I should forget all about him. He’s a terrible man: the mad dog of the Saltpans! I heard all about his crimes and rapes… if it’s indeed him who has committed them of course, but why should I doubt it? After all, he did intend on raping me before I stopped him with a song._

She sobbed silently in her bed for some time, shameful and sad at the same time, before falling into an empty half-sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Sandor**

There had been no mistaking her for anyone else when he had seen her that afternoon. Her hair was different and she had been wearing simpler clothing than befitted her rank, but it would take more than that to fool a bloody dog like him.

 

After moons of recovering from his physical injuries while nearly dying of boredom, Sandor had finally left the Quiet Isle some time ago and was now wandering from village to village with no particular goal apart from getting drunk as often as he could manage. His name had been sullied by some fucker who was raping and killing his way across the Riverlands while wearing Sandor’s lost snarling dog helmet.

 

 _What kind of buggering fool is that coward, to cravenly use someone else’s identity to do his fucking dirty work? If you want to kill, kill, but don’t hide yourself behind anyone and let them take the blame of your bloody actions. No matter how many wenches this bastard has raped, he’s no real man to me._ Given this new unfounded addition to his already bad reputation, Sandor had to play the holy man in order to avoid being recognised. If ever he were, hordes of enraged smallfolk and knights would be likely to line up just to get a try at killing the _terrible mad dog of the Saltpans_. This disguise didn’t prevent people from noticing him though; septons and holy brothers of his height and build were extremely uncommon and the roughspun of his robe did nothing to muffle the jingle of the armour that he wore underneath it. Innkeepers were always suspicious of him whenever he came to their inn for a few drinks of wine or a proper bed, but they never enquired further as he had the gold to pay and didn’t give them any trouble. The elder brother had given him a pouch filled with coins before he left the island and Sandor was grateful for that. He owed a lot to that man.

 

Crossing the Narrow Sea and starting a new life in one of the free cities appeared to be the more logical thing to do as there was no way that Sandor could hope to find work if he stayed in Westeros, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the Seven Kingdoms so soon. _Stupid dog! You’ll never find her, she’s long gone, she might even be dead for all you know_ , he had often thought angrily but still, he had stayed.

 

As he was riding Stranger toward the Gates of the Moon, Sandor was congratulating himself for having lingered around the Riverlands longer than logic would have recommended. He had been thunderstruck when he had glimpsed the girl a few hours past; his heart had missed a beat but he had acted hastily and followed her from afar, determined not to lose track of her this time. The pretty little bird had flown all the way from King’s Landing to the Vale and landed right on his path by total chance. _My luck has definitely turned around,_ he had mused while incredulously staring at the girl. 

Thankfully, neither the little bird nor her escort - a busty wench and a useless guard - had realised that they were followed while Sandor had admired her almost openly. The little bird had grown, Sandor had immediately noticed. Her body was still lean and graceful but she was undoubtedly taller and curvier.

 

 _How in the Seven Hells has this girl ever come to escape from the Lannisters to appear this far from her cage?_ he had wondered, although he had already  known a part of the answer _._  It had been fucking obvious from the start to Sandor that Sansa of House Stark, former betrothed to the damned king, had been helped somewhere along the way and had found a new protector here in the Vale. Discovering who exactly the bugger was had been an easy task: when Sandor had asked him about the identity of the young woman, a man that sold goods at the market had appeared pleased to inform him that the _maiden_ was the bastard daughter of the Protector of the Vale, _Lord_ Petyr Baelish. Sandor had felt his mouth twitch instantly at the idea that this piece of shit had his little bird for himself. As much as he had not wanted her to stay in the lion pit forever, Sandor couldn’t bear the thought that someone other than him had saved her, especially this fucker. He had never liked the man, but now he hated him.

 

There was no bloody way that Sandor would let the little bird go this time. On the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, he had been drunk and scared by the fires when he had sought her out. Stupidly, he had expected that she would compliantly follow him out of the Red Keep but the girl had not been interested in his proposition. The rage caused by the little bird’s rejection combined with the gallons of wine he had drunk had numbed Sandor’s senses and prevented him from thinking straight.  If the little bird preferred to stay with Joffrey, it was her choice, he had reflected, but he would not leave empty-handed. He’d have something to remember her, a nice bloody souvenir and the oh so _noble_ and _proper_ Sansa Stark would never forget him either, a good thing since he had never been able to stand the feeling of being invisible in her eyes. The frightened but sweet voice of the girl had stopped Sandor in his tracks just in time. Her singing had been so soft and innocent that he had realised that although he was unquestionably a monster, he could never bring himself to hurt his little bird. Disgusted with himself, he had fled from her but that had been another mistake, he had found out later. _I should’ve taken her with me by force. I‘m no worse than her damned Imp of a husband or than this fucking Littlefinger she’s with now._

Sandor was well aware that he didn’t deserve to be anywhere near such a pure and gentle creature and that if he seized her there was no buggering way that he would not try to get a taste of the girl sooner or later, but why should he be the only one acting honourably while both of those bastards had had their turn ruining the little bird? She was rid of the dwarf but Littlefinger was no friend of hers either. The girl was probably ignorant on the deceitful manner in which the bastard had betrayed her father but Sandor would be bloody glad to tell her all about it after he’d stolen her from him.  

 

 

****

 

 

The Gates of the Moon were surrounded by a thick forest that offered plenty of decent shelter possibilities.  After about an hour of searching, Sandor had located a nice clearing that would meet all the requirements for a basic camp. It was already dark when both he and Stranger had eaten and rested a bit.

 

With some difficulty, Sandor took off his armour as he preferred to avoid making noises that could be heard by the guards while he crept around the castle to get acquainted with the site. In order to build an efficient plan for the capture of the little bird, Sandor would have to study the fortress and find its weakness as well as learn about the habits of the inhabitants of the place. This procedure would probably take him days, even weeks, yet he was determinated not to fail and was prepared to invest as much time as would be necessary. Patience was usually not one of his qualities, however when his mind was set on something, Sandor could be relentless like no other. Hidden behind the forest’s treeline, he would wait for the perfect moment to strike from dawn to twilight and through the night if needed, but he had no doubt that Sansa Stark would end up being his sooner or later.

 

It was a warm night for winter; Sandor was almost comfortable wearing only regular breeches, a tunic and a studded leather jerkin. His robe had stayed at the camp, folded inside a satchel since the damned piece of clothing was far too bulky and Sandor didn’t need a fucking _dress_ to stop him from moving as swiftly as he intended.

 

As he was getting closer to the walls of the castle, his eyes were drawn by a womanly shape standing alone on a balcony. _Seven buggering hells!_ He was near enough to recognise her: it was the little bird all right! The girl was garbed in a nightgown and staring sadly at the horizon; she stayed there for a long moment before disappearing back into the castle. Sandor’s heart was fluttering but a grin formed on his burned lips. _Fool! You don’t give such an accessible room to the most beautiful girl in the realm!_ The little bird’s abduction would not have to wait after all and it would be fucking easier to steal her than he had originally planned. Proper little lady as she was, the girl was almost certainly in her own chamber since she was not _suitably_ dressed in that nightgown to present herself in pubic… although, there was a possibility that could be in Littlefinger’s suite, but if it was the case, Sandor would kill the bastard without a second thought when he got there.

 

At a quick but careful pace, Sandor returned to his camp. He went straight to where Stranger’s saddlebag was settled on the ground and grabbed a long and solid rope that was stored inside one of its pouches. _This will do to pass over the outside wall of the castle. Then, I’ll climb up the other one easily without a rope using the big carved stones to get to the girl’s room._ Since the rope was very long, Sandor decided to cut some length of it with his dagger; he would use the second half to bind the girl if she resisted him. It might be a bit harder to come down with the little bird afterward if in fact she was reluctant to follow him and he needed to tie her up but he would manage it.

 

This time, he would not give her any option. No matter how she reacted at seeing him, he would not leave without her. Nothing would stop him, be they tears or pleas.

 

 

****

 

 

The outer wall was already behind him. It had been no trouble to climb it; Sandor had hitched a strong steel anchor at the end of his rope and had thrown it over the structure before going up it without difficulty. The way down had been even easier and he was now contemplating the wall of the castle while keeping an eye on his surroundings. The yard was quiet and Sandor had not even glimpsed a guard yet. He snorted at the utter carelessness of the _Lord Protector of the Vale_ at leaving the little bird so unprotected. Any bugger could have broken into this place and stolen her from her bed at night. If there were any bloody gods in this damned world, they were to be thanked that Sandor had come to fetch her before anything bad might have happened.

 

The stones of the wall were old and cracked, offering Sandor many choices of holds for his hands and feet as he ascended to the little bird’s third floor chamber. After a few minutes of effort, he arrived on the balcony and looked through the stained glass of the slightly opened door. The room was dim but there was still a brazier in the fireplace giving off enough light for him to discern the girl’s sleeping form on a bed not far from it. He sighed in relief: there was no sign of Littlefinger. Although slashing through a man was everyday business to Sandor, he preferred for the little bird to be alone since he doubted that the little fucker would die quietly, without screaming for help and alerting the whole castle.

 

The girl would probably scream too when she saw him coming in. The best tactic would be for Sandor to hastily open the door and run to her; he would then immobilise her small body and silence her cries with a strong hand. _I’d better go now before I get too fucking nervous and start shaking like a squire before his first battle._

After taking a deep breath, Sandor entered the room as fast as he could before jumping on the bed and getting on top of the girl while putting a huge hand on her mouth. He used his other hand to grab one of her wrists while his whole body was crushing her onto the bed. There was no way that she could move, her other hand was even trapped under Sandor’s weight. The little bird squirmed for a second before her frightened eyes popped open; she then gasped in surprise and fear at seeing him. Sandor felt her muscles tense under him but she stopped wriggling as soon as she recognised him. For a long moment, the girl stared at her assailant in terror, but she didn’t struggle to free herself nor try to scream. _Is she too appalled to fight back?_ Sandor was gazing at her big blue eyes, his heart beating faster and faster as he was getting queerly aroused by their proximity. She was breathtaking, even scared to death as she was, Sandor mused, while marvelling at the softness of her milky skin against his calloused fingers.

 

After several seconds of awkward silence, Sandor finally spoke up. “Will you scream if I take my hand from that pretty mouth of yours?” he rasped, his face inches from hers.

 

She vigorously shook her head.

 

Very slowly, Sandor slid his hand from the plump lips of the stunning girl but kept it on her cheek and jaw. She stayed silent but her mouth was slightly open in an expression of shock and incomprehension.

 

“I saw you at the village today, little bird,” was his only explanation.

 

“You did?” she whispered almost inaudibly, obviously baffled.

 

Sandor nodded before answering, “Aye, that’s why I’m here. The Vale is no place for you, little bird. You’re coming with me.”

 

Her pretty eyes widened even more. “Where?”

 

“Away,” Sandor said, while caressing her bottom lip with his thumb before adding, “The free cities maybe.”

 

While he was expecting her to resist, protest and cry at the prospect of being abducted to a foreign continent by the likes of him, the girl’s stillness confused Sandor. She didn’t so much as shift or pronounce a word of reaction at hearing his intentions; the little bird just kept staring at him with a dumbstruck expression. _Too damn scared to move, I wager. I’d better get on with it; I have no time to lose._

 

In an authoritative tone, Sandor asked the girl: “Now, will you obediently come with me like the good girl I know you are, or will I have to tie you up and carry you over my shoulder?”

 

The little bird took a deep breath and answered in a weak and nervous voice, “I’ll follow you.”

 

 _What in the seven hells?!_ Sandor was puzzled: why the fuck would Sansa Stark willingly cross the Narrow Sea with him? He had just crept inside her chamber in the dark of night and taken hold of her as any common rapist would. _Exactly as I did on the night of the bloody Blackwater Battle,_ Sandor mused, annoyed with himself. Was the girl trying to play him? Was it a trap?

 

“And why would you want that?” he asked almost angrily.

 

The brutality of his retort appeared to frighten the poor girl but after biting her pink lip and closing her eyes tightly, she blushed and shyly murmured, “I don’t know… but… I want to.”

 

Was she mad? What the fuck had Littlefinger done to her? Sandor had not changed; he was still the same hideous brute he had been on their last encounter. Why in the seven _bloody_ hells would she want to flee with him now? _Littlefinger is probably using her as his own personal whore, but does she truly believe that I won’t touch her too?_ As he was looking down at her, the little bird opened her stunning blue eyes and gazed up at him. She was obviously frightened but she also seemed overly shy. _Shy_! Why would any victim be _shy_ with her attacker? Something was wrong, really wrong… but not in an unpleasant way, Sandor realised as he felt his cock grow hard.

 

In an irrational impulse, he decided to test the girl’s limits and learn exactly how far she was willing to go in order to escape from that piece of shit that they called _the Lord Protector of the Vale._ Her full lips were the prettiest shade of pink and looked so delicious to Sandor; since they were still parted, his tongue slid easily inside of her mouth as he softly kissed her. After an instant, the girl’s tender little tongue met his. As he felt it, the burned man instantly broke the kiss to look at her with suspicion. She tensed under his prying stare and although the room was dim, it was clear that her skin had turned scarlet but the girl kept her gaze on him anyway. Abashed and manifestly uneasy as she was, the little bird’s gorgeous eyes were nonetheless shining with something that Sandor had never seen in them before, something so mysterious and appealing that he knew he had to push the girl further to provoke more of that new and arousing gleam.

 

The beast in him had definitely been awoken. In an instinctive movement, Sandor’s head went down to kiss and bite the girl’s neck and ear while his left hand slid down her body, firmly stroking her waist and hip before grabbing one full breast.

 

“Ooh…” the little bird softly moaned.

 

 _Is she really enjoying this?_ Sandor wondered, taken aback. He was no expert in women’s behaviour, but from that sound, _fuck him_ if she didn’t. That was all the encouragement he needed and there would be no turning back from now on, no matter the change of heart that the girl might soon have.

 

As the ache of his swollen cock was getting almost unbearable, Sandor abruptly backed away from the little bird and went on his knees. The girl appeared confused and quickly raised herself on her elbows while eyeing him with eyes wide as saucers. As she saw Sandor reaching for his dagger, she curled up and gasped in fear.

 

“Relax, little bird,” he said while slashing through the girl’s nightgown and underclothes with the sharpened blade.

 

The little bird’s small hands went to cover her teats but Sandor grabbed her wrists and pushed her arms aside. The sight of the roundness of her creamy breasts crowned by those cute little pink buds of hers almost made him completely lose his mind. The girl whimpered as Sandor’s mouth went to suckle and lick them; her nipples were stiff and sweet under his tongue. _This is madness. We should be gone by now,_ he mused, knowing very well that he had already reached the point of no return and that the only outcome of this situation would be to fuck the little bird hard and deep. _I’ll be quick with this,_ he decided as he unlaced his breeches. With strong but careful fingers, he began to rub the girl’s folds; she was wetter than any whore had a right to be, Sandor realised with disbelieving amazement as he heard her breath catch in her throat. Sansa _fucking_ Stark was wriggling and moaning under his touch with an unmistakable and wanton pleasure, and Sandor concluded that she was more than ready to be filled by his manhood.  

Without warning, he thrust the entirety of his rock hard cock into to little bird’s entrance. She screamed in pain so loudly that he had to muffle her cries with his hand.

 

“Shh! You don’t want to wake the whole castle, do you?” he rasped in her ear in an annoyed tone.

 

Although Sandor had no doubt that his size was greater than that of the Imp or Littlefinger, the girl’s reaction was a bit excessive; she even had tears in her eyes as if she was a maiden on her wedding night. _Sensitive little bird_ , he thought, slightly irritated while continuing to fuck her with his hand still on her mouth. After a few moments, the girl appeared to start enjoying herself once again, but it was too late as Sandor had reached his limit and was soon spilling his seed inside of her while experiencing the strongest climax that he’d had in a long time. Out of breath, he rolled off the little bird, still astonished by the tightness of her sweet cunt _. I just fucked Sansa Stark,_ was all he could think right then.

    


	3. Chapter 3

**Sansa**

   

 

She still couldn’t believe that it was truly the Hound panting by her side. Sansa had been daydreaming about him just moments before, going as far as touching herself while thinking of him, and there he was, in her bed next to her, with his manhood covered in her blood! It had seemed at first as though some mysterious magic had granted her the wish that she had hoped for minutes earlier, but the reality had been far more brutal and frightening than her fantasies. The Hound was so strong; he had been quick to overpower her and had given her no option as he had taken her maidenhead in an almost identical fashion to the one that she had pictured in her mind before falling asleep. _Are fantasies really meant to come true, or should they stay in the realm of dreams? Did I actually want all that to happen or was it only foolish fancy on my part and I’ll soon come to regret this?_ It had hurt terribly, but at the same time, Sansa couldn’t deny that she had been excessively aroused through the whole process. _Is it normal to have those feelings in my core, all the while being in pain and frightened to death?_

The Hound’s angry voice took her out of her intense reflection. “What’s that?” he demanded while looking at the blood that was splattered over his manhood and on Sansa’s thighs and bed.

 

She curled in on herself in surprise over his reaction and answered weakly, “It’s my maiden’s blood.”

 

“You were a maiden?!” he hoarsely exclaimed with a voice filled with disbelief while his mouth was twitching madly.

 

 _Oh! He didn’t know!_ “Yes… Tyrion didn’t touch me… and Petyr Baelish wanted me to stay intact to annul my marriage,” she shyly explained while covering herself with a sheet.

 

The Hound snorted at that and hastily stood up before saying, “Bloody fools, both of them! Now clean yourself and put something on. We don’t have any more time to lose.”

 

Sansa hesitated; she didn’t want him to stare while she rubbed the blood from her lady’s parts; it would be so humiliating to be seen doing something so inelegant. The Hound apparently saw her unease.

 

“What is it?” he asked dryly.

 

“Could you turn around while I change and clean myself?”

 

“I just fucked you! What are you so shy about?” he snapped.

 

That argument didn’t convince Sansa and she heard the Hound sigh heavily when he realised that she would not move before he did as she asked.

 

“Fine! But don’t you try to escape or stab me in the back while I’m not looking.”

 

 _How can he think such a thing!_ Sansa thought while gaping in shock.

 

 

****

 

 

As she was putting on her warmest cloak and looking around her room one last time to make sure that she had not forgotten anything, Sansa worried over what her handmaidens and _father_ would conclude tomorrow morning when they saw the scene of her deflowering.

 

“Hurry, little bird,” she heard the Hound impatiently urge her from outside.

 

“I’m coming,” she answered while following him on the balcony before glancing at her bed. The sheets were stained with blood and her torn nightgown had not moved from where it had been as the Hound had taken her. She knew that the balcony’s door could only be locked from the inside of the room; the chances were that the wind would open it widely during the night. _Oh! Gods! What will they think!_ she thought, suddenly panicked as she nervously bit her lip.

 

Suddenly, a wind of courage blew over Sansa’s soul as she realised that this very image, as shocking as it may appear would be a key element in the success of her escape from her _father_ and the false life that he had forced upon her. She was ruined for everyone to see; at the pace that rumours travelled at the Gates of the Moon, it would be only a question of hours before the whole castle would hear about the disgraceful fate of the Lord Protector’s daughter. Alayne would lose all of her appeal, no suitor would ask for her hand anymore and Petyr Baelish’s interest in her would melt away like snow in the sun. _He might not even bother searching for me,_ she hoped, a genuine smile forming on her lips as she gazed at the endless horizon that was stretching before her. _I’m finally flying away from this lie and free to be Sansa at last._

 


End file.
